


How Many Doubloons Does it Take to Become a Dog Person?

by searchingwardrobes



Series: Shopping with the Captain [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Getting a Dog, Kids and dogs, Light Angst, daddy killian, mommy emma, so yes that means lots of fluffy goodness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 09:22:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12723876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/searchingwardrobes/pseuds/searchingwardrobes
Summary: When the Jones family decides to get a dog, Emma watches in amazement as her pirate husband becomes a dog lover overnight. Which begs the question: what exactly is wrong with Emma that she can't love an adorable puppy?





	How Many Doubloons Does it Take to Become a Dog Person?

**Author's Note:**

> * I've said before that writing is my therapy. Our elderly dog (she's 12) is having a lot of health problems lately, so I of course had to pour my love and worry into a fic :) The dog in this story IS my dog. I wanted to give her the same name, too, (Scout) but I couldn't think of a good reason for Captain Swan to name their dog after the precocious little girl in To Kill a Mockingbird. So I went with a Disney reference instead.  
> * The kids in this series have always been based on my own kids, but never so much so as in this story. So yeah, this is very autobiographical. A lot of this is based on real stuff that has happened in our house (although we already had our dog before the kids were born).  
> *And, like Emma, I am the most unlikely of dog people. I used to make fun of "dog people," and then this little wiener dog wormed her way into my heart. Okay, I'm stopping or I might get emotional . . .

              There were certain family scenarios that Emma Swan Jones, because of her less than idyllic childhood, assumed were clichés. Call her jaded, call her a cynic, but what real life families had meetings around the dinner table? Especially about getting a family pet? Okay, strategy meetings about how to, oh . . . traipse down to the underworld to get your boyfriend back . . . those she had accepted as par for the course, considering her life. But this . . . ?

              Killian, who was the farthest thing from Mr. Brady she had ever laid eyes on, was the one who had called said family meeting. He hadn’t labeled it as such, of course, and for all their Netflix binge-watching he had yet to see a cheesy old-school sitcom where people “hugged it out,” so he had no pop culture reference point for such a thing. He was a former Captain, after all, and a former Naval man at that, so she shouldn’t have been surprised that he would be so methodical about it all.

              Emma hadn’t even seen the point in sitting the kids down for their input. All three of the children had, at one point or another, begged for a dog. She and Killian had finally decided that they were old enough, at 9, 6, and 4 to help take care of one. They had also decided to get the dog in the spring when the weather was nice, purposely timed far enough away from any kid’s specific birthday so that it would be clear that the pet was for everyone. So what was there to talk about? Emma’s style would have been to announce, “Hey, kids, we’re getting a dog!” and then pile into the minivan and head to the animal shelter.

              Yet here they were, gathered around the kitchen table. And Killian had a notepad and a pen. Yes. Captain Jones would be taking notes.

              Emma did, however, get to shout, “Hey, kids, we’re getting a dog!” Evan, the nine year old, cheered enthusiastically then proceeded to fling himself against walls and turn somersaults. Why he constantly felt the need to slam himself into things, Emma still hadn’t figured out. Half the time she thought he was going to crash through a wall. Ian, their four year old, stood on top of his chair, shouting with glee, his whole body trembling with excitement. Briar Rose, the six year old, had squealed that ear-splitting high-pitched squeal that only pre-pubescent girls are capable of hitting and then showered her daddy with kisses.

              “Hey, the dog’s from me, too!” Emma had protested to her daughter, who then immediately planted sloppy kisses on Emma’s cheeks, too.

              “Ok, ok, settle down,” Killian chuckled, “we have to decide a few things.”

              “You mean we’re not getting the dog _now_?” Evan, the champion whiner, had asked.

              “No,” Killian replied, gesturing for the boy to sit down, “We need to talk about what kind of dog would be best for our family.”

              Emma shook her head and narrowed her eyes at her husband, “Wait, what? I thought we’d just go get a stray from the shelter.”

              Killian raised his eyebrows incredulously. “And go into it completely blind? Swan, each breed of dog has unique characteristics. We need to find the best fit for us.”

              Emma massaged her brow. “You mean we’re going to buy a purebred dog?”

              “Well, yes. I’ve been reading –“

              “Of course you have,” Emma muttered under her breath, but the children took over the meeting with their excited chatter.

              “I want a dog to play ball with,” Ian piped up as he crawled into Emma’s lap. He leaned over to look at Killian’s notepad. “Are you writing that down, Daddy?”

              “Of course, my lad,” Killian assured him as he ruffled his blonde hair. He then scribbled a note on the paper in his fancy penmanship, “Dog who plays ball.”

              Ian beamed and leaned back against Emma’s chest. Briar Rose rested her cherubic cheeks on her hands as she rested her elbows on the table. Her bob, which had been shiny and combed when she left for school that morning, fell in tangles in front of her eyes.

              “I want a dog to cuddle,” she said, though her delayed speech made the last word difficult to make out.

Killian exchanged a glance with Emma. The first grade teacher said that Briar Rose needed one more year to catch up before being put in speech therapy and that it was important for Killian and Emma not to overreact. If they did, she might get nervous and talk less, thus compounding the problem.

Emma smiled at her daughter and nodded, “A dog to cuddle sounds really nice, honey.”

Killian gave Emma a look of gratitude before writing down his daughter’s request.

              “That’s stupid!” Evan scoffed, and Emma’s tenderhearted daughter’s big green eyes immediately shone with tears. “Cuddle dogs are those dumb little ones that you carry around in a purse.”

              “That’s not twue!” Briar Rose shouted.

Emma winced at her mispronunciation of _true_ , and then intervened before the teasing could escalate. “Evan, we don’t call people stupid. Your father asked what everyone wanted in a dog, and that’s what your sister wants.”

Evan scowled. “Well, I just don’t want a frou-frou dog. And I want one that has a loud, scary bark.”

Emma gave her oldest a withering look. “Seriously?”

“It’s not a bad idea, Swan,” Killian told her as he jotted down Evan’s request, “the bark of a dog can scare away intruders.”

Emma doubted that the kind of intruders Storybrooke seemed to attract would be deterred by a dog, but she kept her mouth shut. “Well, I just don’t want dog hair all over everything. Or have to take a dog to get groomed constantly.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Evan nodded, “so like I said, no frou-frou dogs.”

“I have no idea what that is, son,” Killian said with an arch of his brow, “but I’ll do my best.

              **************************************************

When Killian Jones set his mind to something, he was all in. Emma knew this by now, but she still hadn’t expected him to spend weeks researching dogs. Belle helped him find stacks upon stacks of books at the library, and pretty much every night before bed she found him scrolling through countless dog-lover blogs. The kids kept begging, day after day, asking when they were going to finally get the dog they were promised. Emma was so tired of hearing it, she was half tempted to just pick up a dog at the shelter without Killian’s input. The excitement in his eyes and the passion in his voice about various dog breeds was the only thing that stopped her.

Finally, one night at dinner, Killian announced that not only had he figured out the perfect breed for his family, but he had also found a farm just outside of town with a new litter of puppies. Amidst cheers from the children, he pulled the farm’s web site up on his laptop and set it in the middle of the kitchen table.

Only Briar Rose spoke.

“Awww, so cuuuute!” she enthused, grasping her hands together beneath her chin.

“Seriously, Dad?” Evan deadpanned. “Weiner dogs?”

“Dachshunds, son, from the German for badger dog,” Killian explained, like a walking encyclopedia. Emma couldn’t help leaning over and brushing a kiss against his cheek. He was so sexy when he was nerdy.

“They’re awfully small, aren’t they?” Emma asked. Briar Rose was right – the little things were absolutely adorable. And tiny. They were pictured on the website next to various household objects to emphasize how small they were: a coffee mug, a bottle of water, a tennis shoe, each of which dwarfed the puppies.

“Well, these _are_ miniature dachshunds, Swan, but they won’t stay _that_ tiny.”

“Will they get big enough to play ball?” Ian asked as he leaned over the table to get a better look.

“Dachshunds love to run and play,” Killian assured their youngest, “they are a hunting breed, not a toy breed. And don’t be fooled by their size, Evan, they actually have a very loud bark. They make good watch dogs, actually.”

Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing. Killian looked so sincere. “Just watching, though. I mean, come on, babe, no one’s going to be intimidated by a sausage.”

“Well, no,” Killian admitted with a small chuckle, “but we won’t need her to be with a pirate and an enchantress in the house, right?”

“Her?” Emma asked.

“Yes,” Killian said firmly, “male dachshunds have notoriously bad tempers while the females are very docile and affectionate.”

“Vey’we so sweet,” Briar Rose lisped.

“Yes, sweetie, _they are_ ,” Emma agreed, subtly correcting her daughter’s pronunciation.

“And,” Killian put in, “the short haired breed is an extremely low shedder. So your mother won’t be constantly sweeping up dog hair.”

Emma leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, “You really researched this, didn’t you?” She tipped her head teasingly as she regarded her husband. “Was there a chart or something?”

When he turned red all the way up to the tips of his elf-shaped ears, she knew. There was a chart.

              ************************************************

They drove for an hour the next day to reach the farm with the litter of puppies. The kids tumbled from the van almost before Emma got it in park and raced for the fenced in area where the puppies were running and barking. By the time she and Killian made it to the pen, each of their children were already playing with the only three female puppies left. Ian was rolling on the ground with a wriggling black one, and Evan was struggling to hold a tan one, but eventually gave up and set it down when the puppy wouldn’t stop thrashing. Then she and Killian turned to their daughter.

Briar Rose held a still, small bundle with shiny, deep russet fur against her chest. The puppy had snuggled up against Briar Rose’s shoulder and rested its chin there, regarding the world calmly with huge brown eyes.

“Oh, Daddy,” Briar Rose breathed as she hugged the little warm body tighter.

Emma just glanced at Killian. He swallowed the visible lump in his throat and smiled.

“I’ll go give them a check,” was all he had to say.

              *******************************************************

When they left the farm, they weren’t surprised when all three kids argued over who got to hold the new puppy on the way home. Killian hushed them all by firmly declaring that he would hold the puppy in the front seat, so it would be less likely to get sick. Emma smiled fondly at the image of her husband, the notorious Captain Hook, sitting with a little copper colored puppy in his lap that was so small she fit inside a shoe box.

And that’s what they ended up naming her – Copper.

              **************************************************

Emma had been surprised when Killian – her budget conscious husband, serious guardian of the financial ledger – wanted to purchase a purebred dog over finding a free one at a shelter. She was even more surprised when he wrote a check for $550 to purchase little Copper without a single bead of sweat coming out on his brow. And now, here they were perusing the aisles at PetSmart, and Killian was suddenly the yes man of the family.

Evan wanted to get the dog a bag of treats.

“Yes, my lad, of course.”

Briar Rose wanted to buy the dog food just for dachshunds at a whopping $18 a bag.

“Certainly. Only the best for our little Copper.”

Ian, of course, wanted to buy a pack of tennis balls to throw to Copper. But not just any – the ones in assorted neon colors that were a dollar more a pack.

“Those look fantastic, son!”

Emma frowned and put a hand to Killian’s forehead. “Are you sick, babe?”

Killian chuckled as he lifted a crate – the most expensive one in that size, endorsed by the American Kennel Club – from the shelf and placed it in the cart. “Never felt better. Why?” He bent and rubbed Copper, who sat in the front of the shopping cart, behind the ears. She had seen that smile on his face before.

He was smitten.

“Nothing,” she told him, shaking her head and threading her arm through his.

They made their way contentedly down the next aisle where their kids were supposed to be picking out a collar for Copper. They sped up when they heard shouting.

“Vat one’s ugly!” Briar Rose shouted, giving her big brother a shove in the chest which barely moved him.

“It’s tough looking!” Evan shouted back, waving a black studded collar in the air.

“But she’s a guw-el, not a boy!” Briar Rose argued. “She wants the pink one!”

“It’s got hearts all over it!”

Emma sighed wearily as Evan and Briar Rose began yanking the collars back and forth between them. Ian stood a few feet away holding a fistful of assorted collars in one hand and straining for another one just out of reach with the other. He lost his balance and fell backwards onto his rump, the collars he had been clutching flying into the air. He then immediately burst into tears.

Emma exchanged a glance with Killian, communicating without words. Killian scooped up the four year old and attempted to soothe his tears while Emma stepped between the arguing siblings.

“Mom, tell her Copper doesn’t want to wear that stupid girly collar!”

“Tell him that Copper is a guw-el and wants to look pwetty!”

A glimpse of dark brown leather just above the childrens’ heads caught Emma’s eye. She reached for it. Engraved into the leather was the word _princess_.

“How about this?” Emma asked.

With Ian still in his arms, Killian leaned over to look at it. He grinned.

“It’s perfect.”

              ****************************************************

It didn’t take long for Emma to come to a startling revelation: she wasn’t a dog person. And the worst part was, she felt ashamed. Like there was something wrong with her. Because every other member of the Jones household adored Copper.

It wasn’t that the puppy wasn’t cute, it was just that she was so much _work_. They divided up dog-caring duties amongst all three kids: Evan was in charge of keeping her water bowl filled, Ian was in charge of her kibble, and Briar Rose had to help with her baths. But their daughter was the only one who ever remembered her duties without constant reminders. Half the time Emma gave up and filled the stupid dog bowls herself.

As for those baths, there were way too many of those. Killian had neglected to mention one annoying habit of a hunting breed: they rolled in things. Smelly things.

“She’s hiding her scent from her prey, Swan,” Killian informed her.

“Thank you, Captain Wikipedia,” Emma had snapped as she filled the sink in the laundry room for the third time that week. At least Copper’s short legs meant she couldn’t jump out of the tub.

Killian had also failed to mention what exactly being a “badger hound” meant. It meant that Copper was bred to dig. A lot. Luckily, the landscaping of the Jones backyard was in what Emma liked to call the “natural look.” After all, a man who spent centuries at sea and a woman who had pretty much always been an urbanite didn’t make the best gardeners. Unfortunately, the one place Copper liked to dig in the Jones back yard was under the fence. Emma wasn’t even aware of it until Leroy showed up on her front porch holding a very smelly Copper out in front of him like she was toxic waste.

“If this damn dog digs up my fertilizer again, I’m calling animal control!”

_Oh, manure. So that was the smell._ Emma sighed deeply and assured Leroy they would take care of it as she carried the foul-smelling puppy to the laundry room.

Make that four baths in one week.

Copper was also costing a lot of money. First there were her shots and her tags. Then, when she was home only two weeks, she got sick. Emma thought cleaning up after puking children was bad, but a puking dog was ten times worse and a hundred times more disgusting. An overnight visit to the vet and $350 later, they found out that the kids had fed her Doritos.

“I’m just glad she’s okay,” Killian had cooed as he nuzzled his cheek against the dog’s head.

Who was this man? Oh, that’s right, he had turned into one of those _dog people_. He was the guy who drove twenty minutes outside of town to buy the expensive dog food with the omega 3s. He was the guy who came home from every shopping trip with a treat or a new squeaky toy. He was the three hundred year old notorious pirate with a steel hook at the end of one arm who talked baby talk to a ten pound weenie dog.

And it was driving Emma secretly mad. She was the only one who seemed irritated when cleaning up accidents. She was the only one who swore under her breath when she tripped over a dog toy. The entire family would be in the back yard, throwing balls to Copper and chasing her around, and Emma just wasn’t into it. When the weather got cooler, there was rolling and wrestling with the dog on the rug. Copper would come to Emma’s chair and roll over on her back on top of Emma’s feet. Emma would oblige and reach down to give her a half-hearted belly rub. But that’s all it was – half-hearted.

She watched the rest of her family with the dog. She watched Evan play tug of war with a rope toy on his hands and knees, a delighted smile on his face. She would watch Ian giggling happily as he and Copper played “fetch.” (A game that the dog never did seem to get the hang of. She would chase the thrown ball, but never seemed to understand that she was supposed to bring it back.)

Briar Rose adored the puppy most of all, squeezing her with exuberant hugs until the poor dog’s eyes were popping, or putting Copper inside her doll carriage and pushing her around the house with a baby bonnet on her head. The dog took it all so patiently, it surprised Emma. One day she walked in the room to find Copper contentedly napping at the end of the couch with a crown perched atop her head.

Emma couldn’t help but wonder if there was something wrong with her. She used to have walls around her heart, and Killian had broken them down, but had she done some sort of irreparable damage? Why was she incapable of loving this dog the way the rest of the family did?

She wondered for a while if maybe it was jealousy, as crazy as that sounded. They had gotten in the bad habit of letting Copper sleep in the bed with them. Emma had started it, if she were honest with herself. They were crate training Copper, and when they first got her home she was too little to make it all night without needing to go. They could practically set their clocks to the puppy: at a quarter to 4 every single morning, she would start to whimper and paw at the crate’s door. Killian would get up and take her out. None of that was the problem. The real problem was that when Killian put her back in her crate, she would begin to whimper. Loudly. Emma could only stand it for about fifteen minutes when she would swear under her breath, fling the covers back in anger, and get the damn dog. Eventually, Copper caught on, and the end result was a dog in their bed. Not just from 4 to 7, but all night.

The worst part was that Copper seemed to think she was human. And she slept like one. Emma would roll over only to come nose to wet nose with a dog. Copper adored Killian more than anyone else in the house – he was her Alpha Male, for sure – and when it came to sharing a bed, Copper wanted him all to herself. Sometimes Copper would wind herself around Killian’s head. Other times she would snuggle between his legs. Bu the absolute worst was when she literally starting kicking Emma out of the bed. Emma would wake up to four little paws pushing on her back and realize that she was almost falling off the edge of the bed.

“I can’t take it anymore, Killian!” she finally snapped one morning. She had woken up and rolled over to snuggle against her husband’s chest to find that Copper had beat her to it.

Killian, who was already awake and rubbing the dog behind her ears, gave her a surprised look. “If you didn’t want Copper in the bed with us, why didn’t you say so?”

“Because I . . . because . . .” and then Emma did something she hadn’t done in a very long time: she ran away. Granted, she only ran to the bathroom, but still.

Killian followed her, of course. He found her leaning over the sink, glowering at her own reflection. He put his hand and stump gently on her shoulders and leaned against her, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear.

“What’s bothering you, love?”

“I think I’m broken, Killian,” she whispered. Then she turned to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face against his shoulder. He said nothing, just rubbed her back and patiently waited for her to explain. “I can’t love the dog. Everyone else does. What’s wrong with me?”

He held her tighter. “You’re not broken, Emma. It just takes you a little longer to warm up, that’s all. You didn’t exactly like me at first either, remember?”

Emma chuckled against his skin, and Killian pressed a kiss to the top of her head before continuing. “We’ve only had Copper for six months, darling, and she’s been a lot of work. But now that she’s out of the puppy phase, I wouldn’t be surprised if you two became fast friends.”

Emma leaned back and craned her neck to look into Killian’s eyes. “Maybe. But if that’s gonna happen, you better get her out of our bed.” When she saw Killian’s face start to turn down in a pout that could rival Briar Rose’s, she quickly added, “I’m telling you babe, if you want to keep having _more enjoyable activities_ in that bed, the dog better go.”

He bought a dog bed that same afternoon.

              ******************************************************

Of all the children, it was clear that Briar Rose was Copper’s favorite. Emma thought it had something to do with the fact that Briar Rose, despite dressing the poor dog up, was gentler with her than the boys. The dog also barked incessantly at the boys constant special effects noises (explosions, light saber swooshes, cheering crowds for imaginary touchdowns), and in general seemed a little on edge around their violent – er, exuberant – play. Briar Rose, on the other hand, preferred playing with dolls and cooking in her toy kitchen. Her high-pitched giggles and squeals were also surprisingly more tolerated by Copper.

The girl and the puppy were practically inseparable, and Briar Rose spent a lot of time chatting with her furry friend. Sometimes it was a one-sided conversation that brought a smile to Emma’s face. Other times, the little girl would lay down beside Copper, stroke her head, and whisper secrets to the little pup. Slowly, Killian and Emma noticed Briar Rose’s speech improving. The first grade teacher seemed to think that conversing with the dog – who wouldn’t correct her or tease her – had been a large reason for their daughter’s swift improvement. Emma almost wept the day her daughter said her own name – Briar Rose – without a lisp. (They never would have given her a name with so many “r” sounds if they had been able to see the future.)

But Copper’s utter devotion to the little girl wasn’t fully realized until Briar Rose came down with strep throat. Emma decided to stay home with her while Killian went to the station. She always wanted to be the one to take care of the kids when they were sick. In foster care, those were always the times she specifically longed for a mother.

Briar Rose lay on the couch in the living room, a frown marring her cherubic face. A cartoon played on the television, but the little girl didn’t seem to be paying much attention to it. Emma tried to get her to sip some Gatorade, but one swallow made Briar Rose’s face contort with pain. Emma smoothed her hair from her feverish forehead and frowned.

“I’ll get you some more Tylenol, sweetie,” she told her as she headed for the kitchen.

As Emma measured out the medicine, she heard Copper whimper. “I’m sorry girl, did the boys forget to feed you?” But when Emma checked the dog bowls, they were both full. Emma frowned as she headed back to the couch with the medicine. It wasn’t like Copper not to eat, she usually scarfed her food down in ten seconds flat.

Emma stopped in her tracks as she entered the living room. Copper sat forlornly beside the couch, pawing at Briar Rose’s blanket as she continued to whimper. Her normally pert ears were flattened against her head, and if a dog could frown, Copper was right now. Emma handed Briar Rose her medicine. The poor girl was so weak, Emma had to hold her head up so she could take it. Copper whimpered louder.

“Mommy,” Briar Rose croaked, “can I have Copper?”

Emma smiled at her daughter. “Sure, sweetie.” Then she lifted the dog (with both hands to support her back the way Killian Jones, resident dachshund expert, had instructed) and carefully deposited the pooch onto the couch. Copper nuzzled Briar Rose, eliciting a tiny half smile, then turned in a circle to get comfortable at the little girl’s feet.

Twenty minutes later, when Emma came back in to check on her daughter, the sight that met her eyes softened her heart. Briar Rose was fast asleep, her arm hugging Copper who slept curled against the little girl’s chest. Emma rubbed at her aching chest and sighed.

Killian had been right about her heart; he usually was.

              **************************************************

Emma was in the laundry room tossing wet clothes into the dryer when Killian got home from work. She heard him greet Briar Rose and then Copper. When Emma exited the laundry room with the empty basket on her hip, she saw Killian kiss Briar Rose on the forehead and then give the dog a rub behind the ears. The animal was curled up in a “c” shape at the top of Briar Rose’s pillow, practically encircling the child’s head.

“Are you watching over our little princess, Copper?” Killian asked in that sing song voice he used only on the dog. It used to irritate Emma, but today she found it endearing.

“She hasn’t left her side all day,” Emma told him. “She whimpered once to go out, and that was it. She hasn’t even touched her food.”

Briar Rose lifted a limp hand to pat the dog. “She makes me feel better,” she told her father. It was the most she had said all day.

Emma’s hand went to her chest again.

              ********************************************************

When Killian exited the bathroom later that night, he found his wife, Emma Swan Jones, sitting up in bed with a dog sprawled across her lap. She looked up at him with a shrug and a grin on her face as she rubbed the dog behind the ears.

He loved being right.

**Author's Note:**

> Forever ago, I mentioned doing a fic in this series about Killian going to the American Girl store with Briar Rose. I haven't forgotten about that. Be looking for it sometime during the upcoming holiday season. It will be the closing story to this series!


End file.
